


The Cardboard Place

by arbyhimself



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst and Humor, Childhood Trauma, Dark, Dark Comedy, Depression, Despair, Drama, Eventual Fluff, Family, Gen, Homelessness, Hospitals, Implied Sexual Content, Loneliness, Pre-Canon, Rain, Redemption, Road Trips, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Suggestive Themes, Swearing, Trains, Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29293947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbyhimself/pseuds/arbyhimself
Summary: Berry Punch lives on the road.She's traveled the country for several years, never once looking back to a home that was never truly hers. After tumbling down into the darkest depths of Equestrian society, Berry knows what it means to be a rolling stone. Everywhere she goes, a brighter future seems within reach. But there's a lot of things she's running from, and they tend to catch up with her on an all too regular basis.Updates every Sunday!





	1. Into the Ditch

I arrived in Manehattan on a rainy afternoon in November. Some four or five years ago that must have been, but I couldn't say for sure. Maybe even more. I'm terrible with numbers, you know. Recalling facts and such has never really been among my strengths. I'm more the poetic sort of pony. Somepony with a refined taste for the finer arts. At least that's what I could have been. I never really spent much time appreciating art. But if I ever had, I'm sure I'd have enjoyed it very much.

When my train pulled into Manehattan Central that day, rain had been pouring down in streams for some hours already. The weather was bad all day this time of year, but apparently the local pegasi decided to give it a little extra squeeze just when I got off. Or so I thought. The rain seemed a little less strong from inside the cabin, anyway.

The platform didn’t have a roof. I didn’t notice that before getting off. And several tracks ran between the terminal building and where I was standing. I couldn’t spot a single dry spot anywhere else.

I winced; even galloping straight across would take me a good twenty seconds or so. While it didn't sound like much, it would still be enough to get myself soaking wet. I couldn't really afford that. Of course, it wouldn't matter all that much if it were for my coat only, even though drying myself off afterwards always turned out to be a pain.

I was more concerned about the two saddlebags strapped around my barrel. Much like the rest of my scarce belongings, they weren't in a very good shape. Only two weeks ago, during a brief stay in Whinnyapolis, I somehow managed to tear open the bottom on one of them. I still couldn't figure out how that happened. It must have briefly gotten stuck somewhere when I didn't notice or didn't keep an eye out.

After giving it some thought, I had decided to reinforce the bottom of both bags with a solid bit of cardboard. While far from fancy, it more or less prevented stuff from falling out. Of course, it also meant I couldn't let my saddlebags get wet unless I wanted them to fall apart completely. All things considered, the cardboard solution probably wasn't a very good idea after all. I should already have noticed how bad an approach it was back in Whinnysota, right after the first rainfall. And there's rainy days up there pretty much all the time.

Now I wished it all to Tartarus, and dashed forward as quickly as my hooves would carry me. I leaped clear across the remaining tracks, cold rain aggressively gashing into my eyes and snoot, yet I still arrived below the station's balcony in less than half a minute. There weren't any other trains arriving or departing at the time. Which was for the better anyway because I pretty much forgot to look out for them, I think. Maybe I just didn't care.

I almost crashed through the door of the terminal building, given my sheer speed on reaching it, then tumbled right into the crowded foyer. Most of the ponies I could make out in here were all done up, and outdoing each other with their fancy attitudes. My fears of being way underdressed for the fabulous occasion of walking into a damn train station quickly vanished however, at the sight of a bum sleeping on a nearby bench, wrapped in blankets and old newspapers.

As far as first impressions went, this whole madhouse didn't tell me a lot about the city I just arrived in. It might have been a high-end place, but it didn't have to. Down-and-outers were very present here, but then again, where weren't they?

I shook my entire rump and head back and forth in order to dry off to at least some degree. Rain water mixed with the dirt I gathered up over the past days sprinkled the surrounding walls, floors, and bystanders as I did. Some of them looked at me in disgust, while some others just brushed it off with a sneer. I couldn't care less, either way. The worst thing to possibly happen would be somepony trying to sue me for money. And I had no idea where that would be supposed to come from.

Of course they had every right to react the way they did. I hadn't gotten a bath in over a week or so.

I suppose I derived some of my immediate priorities from that thought. A bath sure would be nice, especially regarding this kind of weather. And a room with a bed to sleep in would go well with that, I thought. I'd been forced to sleep out on the street or some park bench on several occasions in my life. Although both can work as an alternative to an actual home at times, I mostly preferred some dry place with a heater. Especially this time of year.

After salvaging a copy of the day's _Manehattan Times_ from a trash bin while no-one was looking, I turned to head out onto the street through the main entrance. Sure, I hated the thought of going back out into the rain. But that was just another necessary evil, right now. I didn't want to spend all day waiting for the rain to stop. I was worn-out and tired from the journey, and from not seeing a proper bed in about three days. I felt cold, hungry, and always on the verge of lashing out at all those mindless ponies around me.

Trotting up to the exit, I spotted a small ad space on the wall right beside it. One of the posted bulletins described the way to a cheap hotel of some sort, somewhere nearby. It didn't say the price, but they misspelled hotel, which just about gives away the category. Or maybe, a pony like me just notices when she's spoken to after a while. In any case, I knew what I was dealing with.

Now, when I call a hotel out on being cheap, I really mean it. There's all sorts of products, deals, or services around the world I could describe with that word. As in, low budget, but they’re not so bad. And then there's things like these kinds of hotels, which are _cheap_. They're the really lousy kind. A rusty bunk somewhere in the back of an office complex, combined with some cold breakfast and a cup of coffee that tastes like somepony already drank and digested it. Throw in some obnoxious tourists from overseas who just want 'a good time,' and you got yourself a standard package.

Of course, a place like that also never charged any more than five bits a week, and that at least was something I could afford. Scattered across my saddlebags at the time were twelve or thirteen of those coins, so that would work. I checked the ad again. The address was located somewhere on East 39th. I had no idea where that was, but it couldn't be very far off. Whenever a place like this gets advertised at the railway station, it's usually within two or three blocks' range.

I stepped out into the open soon after. It was still pouring outside, maybe even heavier than before. I could tell I might need something else to reinforce my bags with after today's walk. Maybe just some more, thicker cardboard would do the trick. Maybe.

A row of cabs stood lined up at the sidewalk, their drivers waiting for potential passengers with anxious expressions. I could only guess how hard a time they had keeping up those inviting smiles. Most of their coats were dripping wet from standing and waiting in the cold for hours. One asked me if I needed a ride, but I never went for luxuries like riding in a carriage someone else was pulling. I enjoyed the thought, until my wallet came along to tell me otherwise.

I needed to cover this distance by myself, potential damage to my luggage be damned. The station was at 42nd East, so I figured it shouldn't be that long a walk. In the end, it took me a good twenty minutes to get there.

The place was a lot like I expected. Of course, mostly I could speak from experience on the subject, so it wasn’t too big a surprise. A few helpfully positioned signs lead the way around a massive concrete block of a building with rows of stained window panes, up to a rusty steel door facing the backyard. It wasn't locked, so it had to be the right one. I sort of expected some kind of lobby or foyer to greet me inside. But there was only a staircase leading straight up. The place was lit up by a row of bright, buzzing neon lights. Another sign informed me that the hotel was in fact situated on the eighth floor.

Grimacing, I once again shook the rainwater out of my drenched coat, then proceeded up the steps. My saddlebags were now ruined for sure, and I'd be damned if I wouldn't catch a cold by tomorrow morning. It was by sheer luck that I hadn't lost anything out on the road. Maybe I just hadn't noticed.

By the time I managed to march up all eight floors, I was panting. The dampness in my coat had drained all the energy from my limbs. There building did have an elevator, but it didn't work. I hadn't actually tried it, but it would’ve been a waste of time in any case. Elevators never worked in these kinds of places.

I could only hope the hotel itself was even still in business. I didn’t meet anyone else while trotting upstairs, which left me with a slightly discouraging feeling in my chest. Of course, the landings between floors also looked nice and cozy to some degree. Hopefully, I thought, I wouldn't actually have to make use of them to spend the night. While sleeping on the stairs seemed a lot more pleasant than heading back out into the rain, it really wasn't what I'd come here for.

I got lucky. Another steel door would meet me upstairs, this one also unlocked. The room beyond it was anything but classy, and I wasn't one to complain about it.

It was kind of a plain, empty hallway. There was a counter to my right, likely the reception. A tan coated mare with a bored expression sat at a desk on the other side. Engrossed in some sort of crossword puzzle, she took a few seconds to notice me standing there. In fact, she likely wouldn't have looked up at all, hadn't it been for the sound of the door slamming close behind me.

"Need a room?" she asked. Her eyes reflected everything but enthusiasm.

I tried to force a smile. "I'd like the one that’s five bits a week, please."

Saying so, I reached for my bags and placed the coins onto the counter between us. The mare nodded. She took my money without anything further to add, then reached for something below. Eventually, she returned to my sight with a small key between her teeth. It had a plaque attached, bearing the number 213 on one side. Somepony had scribbled it on there with a black marker.

"It comes with a bathroom," she explained. "Try not to use too much water, or you’ll break the pipes or something. Your room is on the upper floor, third door on the left. Dining room's up ahead from here, breakfast each morning from seven to ten. Any questions?"

I shook my head in response. "Nah, I'm good." The mare went back to her puzzle.

She didn't even want to know my name. Which was just as well, since it never had made me particularly proud. I guess anyone born into a family called _Punch_ would try to be subtle about it. I wasn't so sure about my parents, but then again I hadn’t seen them in years at this point.

Following the mare's instructions, I didn’t take long to find the room I was looking for. The door had the number 213 in brass letters attached to it, except for the 2, which was missing. The outline could still be seen though, so it was easy to figure out.

The place wasn’t really decorated at all, but it had what I needed. There even was a window facing outside. The bed consisted of a frame made of steel pipes, and the mattress hadn’t seen a cleaner in, well, a while. A naked light bulb was hanging from the ceiling, held up by nothing but the wires that powered it. I activated a nearby switch, and it actually lit up.

I quickly closed the door behind me, dropped my bags, and rushed to take a look at the bathroom. Luckily, there even was a bathtub in here. I would have thanked Celestia for the occasion, hadn't I given up on that sort of admiration a long time ago. I still didn't hesitate to turn on the hot water, and have the entire basin fill up to the top. The only other thing on my mind right now were my saddlebags, but I decided to have their condition drag me down at some other time.

As the tub was only halfway full, I gently placed one hoof after another into the steaming hot water. Ignoring the heat, I slowly but steadily submerged myself into the almost boiling liquid. I didn't really care about the temperature. It was nothing compared to the wonderful sensation of a whole week's worth of sweat and dirt lifting themselves off of my coat all at once.

I sighed in relief as the warmth slowly engulfed me on all sides. Maybe nice things still existed in this world, after all.


	2. Work Hard Get Paid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berry manages to get a job, although she's still unsure whether it actually serves a practical purpose.

Of all the things I predicted about the place, one sure turned out to be true. The coffee during breakfast really did taste like donkey piss. Not that knew what donkey piss tasted like, but this coffee got me as close as my imagination ever wanted to carry me. Which likely stopped short of the real deal just so.

Other than that, Monday mornings in Manehattan seemed to be alright. The sun was out for a change, and I felt more motivated than I usually did at the beginning of the week. I woke up as early as seven in the morning, the thought of actually doing something with my life constantly in the back of my head. It was more of an irrational idea. I had the same feeling every time I came to a new city. It hadn't worked out for me in the past though, so my enthusiasm this morning didn’t do much to convince me.

I tucked yesterday's paper in between my teeth, and headed downstairs for a bite to eat. They didn't provide any toothbrushes anywhere around here, so I had to use the one I took from some other place a few weeks ago. The ponies there didn’t say whether they wanted to keep it or not, but I also couldn’t imagine why anyone in their right mind would. It would be disgusting, even by my standards.

Breakfast was pretty much like I said. They had some oats and apples, and the coffee that tasted like donkey piss. In case I didn’t mention that already. I sat down at a lone table in the room's corner. None of the ponies in this place made me feel very eager to engage in a conversation.

I figured I'd gotten myself into another wastebasket for all sorts of freeloaders and town drunks, who wanted to spend at least one night in a bit of dignity. As I always did. Of course I had probably become one of them ages ago, even if I didn't like to admit it. I held the newspaper up to my face right after sitting down, hoping everyone in the room would take the hint that I wasn't up for talking right now.

I think I got that working for me just fine. At least, nopony approached me for a good while. I skipped the daily news, and started looking for job ads instead. Every halfway decent paper usually had a whole page filled with those, almost all the time. And the _Times_ didn’t disappoint, even though I had to skip through most of the paper before getting there.

I didn't have a pen with me. I used to have one, but I couldn't find it when looking for it this morning. What I did find was a torn piece of cardboard at the bottom of my left saddlebag, lining up with the hole beneath all too perfectly. Most likely, the pen fell out ages ago. Which was just as well, only I couldn't circle any ads that interested me. This way, I simply had to go with whichever one appealed to me first. I found one, and it looked good enough.

The third ad in from the bottom that was. I always started reading them from the bottom, I don't know why. Probably because these were more likely to accept me. Companies who paid most always got the top spots, meaning the lowest ones also had the lowest standards. Which, in turn, meant that they most likely couldn't afford anything better than me.

This one mentioned something about cardboard packages. The company behind it apparently produced and shipped those, and they needed somepony to help packing the packages...into other packages. So they could be shipped to shipping centers or whatever. Despite my recent experiences with cardboard, I decided to give it a try. The place was only about six or seven blocks away.

After successfully memorizing the address, I drowned the last bit of my coffee. The sour taste it left on my tongue made me feel sick to my stomach. I briefly returned to my room to rinse my mouth with tap water, then headed out afterwards. With a bit of luck I thought, I could already do a full shift today.

The packaging company occupied a small, East Side factory building. The pony running the business was a greasy, old stallion somewhere in his fifties. I figured retirement and everything attached to it would come for him sooner or later. Probably sooner, judging from his tastes.

First off, he was a heavy smoker. The walls in his office were a sickening yellow near the ceiling, and a constant stench of tobacco made the room feel even more of a confinement than it already was. I supposed the only way to remove the smell would be blowing the whole place to pieces with dynamite or something. Even as I came in, he was seated behind his desk with a thick, brown cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth. He gave me a disconcerting look as I waltzed in.

"Bringing in the mail?" he asked, voice raspy as it got. "What happened to the other guy? Did he get sick again, the good-for-nothing piece of garbage?"

"I'm not the mailmare," I retorted. "I just wanted to ask if anyone’s answered that ad from the papers yet. The one you posted the other day."

His features lit up. "Ah! This is about the job. Yes, yes. Of course, it's still available." He motioned to the chair opposite from himself. "Why don't you sit down, and we'll discuss things?"

I did.

"Now, since you've gone through our ad, I trust you already have an idea what we’re expecting from you. Still, I would be glad if you could tell me a few things about yourself. Future partners should know the worst about each other." He trailed off for a moment, giggling at his own joke. At least that's what he tried to do. Halfway through, he began to violently choke on his own breath, sending blue smoke out of his nostrils and into my face.

"Well...now, where were we?" He leaned forward, catching his breath. "Ah, yes. I suggest we start with a few basic things, Miss…"

"Punch. Berry Punch." I did my best not to roll my eyes as I told him. The old stallion showed little to no reaction, but I could tell it wasn't what he expected. Of course not. If only they didn't have to ask for my name first, every time.

"Oh, uh...well..." he stuttered, probably unable to compensate whether I was being serious or just making fun of him. "...well, that's just as well. Bucklyn Dodger, nice to meet you. Tell me, Miss Punch, do you have any experience working with packaging?"

"I have experiences on a broad variety of fields," I replied. Something that was much of an automatic response by now. One that always worked, especially in interviews. It also sounded a lot better than 'I'm a mess who has no clue what to do with my life.' He didn’t seem convinced, though.

"A broad variety, you say?" he said. "That _is_ a pretty vague term, if I may say so. Could you...maybe elaborate a bit?"

"Oh, well. Where to start?" I lamented, with the tiniest bit of a sarcastic notion. "I consider myself an artist of sorts. As such, I've worked in all sorts of industries, with all sorts of different ponies. Inspiration comes in the strangest places, I always say."

"An artist?"

"Yes. I paint. Expressionism and Neo-Avantgarde, to be precise. I especially prefer drawing landscapes. The more photogenic, the better. They really capture the essence of a pony's soul from its innermost circles."

The stallion met my gaze with a deadpan stare. He didn’t have the slightest idea what I was talking about. And to be fair, I didn't have a clue, either. I'm actually pretty sure neither of those two art styles have anything to do with landscapes. Maybe they weren't even connected to painting at all.

He didn’t need to understand, though. All I wanted him to do was to stop asking dumb questions and let me get to work, already. Earn a living wage or something. I couldn’t do much else to impress him, anyway.

"Well...fantastic," Mr Dodger eventually continued. "Fantastic, no, really. I really do prefer to work with ponies who can envision themselves doing great things. Ponies like you tend to be much more motivated in what they're doing."

I guess that was one way of looking at things. And it seemed to go pretty well for me, so I decided to move along with it.

"You do have a vision, don't you, miss Punch?"

I snapped out of my thoughts. What did he even mean by that?

"Oh, of course," I replied, nevertheless. "Ponies sometimes tell me I couldn’t be destined to go far in life because I don't have a proper education. But I say, screw them! The more ponies there are doubting me today, the more faces I’ll laugh into when I make it to the top. So, yes, I do have a vision. And I'm sure that together, we can make it happen. My artistic vision combined with your expertise in running a business, I mean. This job I'm applying for might be simple now, but it can get both of us far up, that much I can tell you!"

I couldn't believe the words coming out of my own mouth. To be honest, had anypony else said them, I probably would have laughed at them. Not this guy; he looked positively fascinated by the nonsense I was spewing. No other interviewer had ever made such a fuss about the simple lie I used as an excuse to cover up the actual mess my life was. Maybe, I thought, coming here wasn't such a good idea, after all.

"Well, I don't know about that," he finally added after due moments of consideration. "But you certainly are a motivated pony, and that's just what we're looking for! Plus, I don't see any competition lining up anytime soon. So I'd say: Congratulations! You got the job."

He extended one hoof across the table. It was the same with which he'd occasionally pour his cigar ashes into the nearby tray.

I felt somewhat hesitant to accept the shake. But I also needed the money, so I did it, anyway.

"I'm ready to begin at any time," I added. The sooner I got a full pay the better, after all.

Mr Dodger nodded, seemingly pleased with my insincere enthusiasm. "Good. Very good. We'll just fill out a few forms real quick, and then we're good to go. The boys down at the line will show you how everything works. Just go down the stairs, and tell them you're the new kid."

He shoved a pen and paper in my face. I immediately felt reminded about the pen that I'd lost earlier. Which brought to mind several ideas of how to acquire this one. They were all illegal of course, and they would cost me any chance I had in receiving this job, so I dismissed them without further thought. Instead, I filled out the personal information he needed for whatever reason, then got ready to head out. Although I did notice a slight inconsistency. The form clearly stated something about a nine to five job. And yet, it was still only eight-thirty.

I knew this had been a bad idea. Starting off with unpaid overtime always was. I already felt the urge to call him names.

But I reconsidered and kept my mouth shut. I still needed his money, after all.


	3. Fruits of Your Labor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old habits hard on her heels, Berry forces herself to earn a living.

The job turned out to be even duller than I expected. When reading about packing packages in the paper, I thought of it as some word play or a local inside joke. It wasn't. I literally had to work with packages of two different sizes, unfold the largest, put about twenty of the smaller ones inside, then seal the large one with some tape. And repeat. For eight and a half hours.

It felt like a sick prank, but at least the payment seemed right. According to my contract, I'd receive a solid six-hundred bits each month. Of course, before I was going to judge the entire deal, I'd first have to see how consistently the money kept flowing in this place.

There were two other ponies on the line with me, a mare and a stallion. Why Dodger earlier referred to them as _the boys_ was beyond me, and I couldn’t have cared less. I didn't really bother to learn their names either. Chances were, I wouldn't ever need to call them over for anything. And neither could I think of anything particularly interesting that made me want to talk to them. The mare was a good deal older than me, and the stallion despite being about my age, wasn't a very talkative one himself.

Eight hours of pointless labor it was. My lunch break was just about long enough to get one or two daisy sandwiches chewed up at the cafe across the block. More importantly, it meant thirty valuable minutes each day that I didn't have to spend doing something that bored me to death. And all of us could still go home at five, so I guess the job was really only seven and a half hours. Not every one of them came with that kind of privilege, so I tried my best to recognize and cherish it. I really did.

I kept going and pulled through, telling myself how the paycheck would justify the means. Three full days, I went on like that. For these three days, I played the part of the happy little citizen the kingdom likes to appreciate. Doing their job, getting their pay, building a better future. Something like that.

When my shift ended on Wednesday night however, I decided I deserved some recognition for keeping up the good work. A self-proclaimed pat on the shoulder, so to speak. I had finished off more than two-hundred package packages that week, and I already felt sick by just looking at them.

There was a liquor store about halfway between work and the hotel, so naturally I had to walk past it twice every day. I would take a few curious peaks at it each time, and they kept reminding me of this awful drought in my throat which grew more and more unbearable with every passing minute and day. I tried fighting the urge. Save up some money, an ancient instinct from a time long gone told me every time it came up. Build a future for yourself, you dense nag. I tried listening to that. I really did.

Wednesday night I decided to take a look inside, just for the hell of it. And I promised myself this thing or that, walking in. That it wouldn't take me too long. It ended up taking me almost an hour. And despite my best of instincts, the last of my cash eventually got wasted on two bottles of white wine. I'm not sure why I bought the stuff, or even why I needed two bottles instead of just one. Probably because I couldn't think of anything more useful to spend my money on.

I went straight on home from there, both bottles tucked into a brown paper bag, which was dangling from my mouth. It seemed like the most reasonable thing to do. I couldn't go anywhere or do anything, not without any money left. Anything's just about everything that won't come for free in Manehattan. No, I decided I'd rather go home and cherish what I already paid for.

My stomach started rumbling as I entered the building. I hadn't eaten anything all day, safe for the scarce breakfast this morning and the sandwiches for lunch. I tried to ignore the hunger for now, seeing as the wine would somehow get me through the evening. Then again, they only had me covered for tonight. After that, I would quickly run out of food, except for breakfast. And even that would only last until Sunday.

Looking at things that way, my earlier decisions might have been a little short-sighted.

I shrugged off the thought, and proceeded up the stairs. I had managed to spot an out of order sign on the ground floor the day before, which told me that the elevator really was broken. Staircase it was, then. Eight floors, each and every day. But compared to this new job of mine, it didn’t feel dull at all.

When I arrived on the eighth, I greeted the mare at the counter with a simple nod. At least, I tried to do that. She didn't look up from whatever it was she was currently working on, so she probably hadn't even noticed me. I initially wanted to speak up and greet her out loud as a result. But I figured I'd just be making an idiot out of myself, and kept going on ahead. As always, I hardly met anypony else out in the hallway.

I headed straight for my room, where I tossed the bag with my shopping items on the bed. I first thought about taking another bath, but I didn't really feel like it. I don't know why. Sometimes, I'm just not into things which I'd otherwise enjoy. Which may sound weird, but that's the way it is.

Turning back towards my latest purchase instead, I fumbled around my saddlebags for a good five minutes or so, in search of my corkscrew. I always carried one of those around with me. An exhale of relief left my muzzle when I finally found it between all the other trash. I already thought I'd lost that, too. Good thing I hadn't.

Without further ado, I fell back onto my haunches, back gently rested against the mattress. I pulled one of the bottles out of its bag, then got to work on it right after. It's easy to feel jealous about unicorns at times like these. With all their magical abilities, they probably wouldn't even have to use a tool. They could just do the little pulling thing with their horn, no damage done. Yet here I was, clenching the screw between my teeth, while slowly and carefully turning the bottle with my hooves, my jaws pushing down on the handle.

The whole procedure must have looked incredibly stupid. I always felt like a moron with things that would be so much easier to handle with telekinesis. There were perks to being an earth pony, sure, but I failed to see them. Some ponies once told me I should embrace the special connection to the earth my race supposedly has. I don’t even know what that means.

Given years of experience, it took me less than a few more seconds to unscrew the bottle. In any case, I didn't need to let any more precious time go to waste. I spat out the corkscrew, then lifted the bottle to the height of my face. Gently then, I started tilting it towards my muzzle, until finally my lips connected with the cold glass.  
There are no words to describe that glorious, glorious feeling when the first droplets of sweet grape juice pour down on the tongue, followed by a gentle stream that only keeps coming. I felt a shiver run down my spine, as they began dripping down my throat. And not the kind of shiver a pony gets when they're cold. It felt pretty good, and...satisfying, I guess. An amazing catharsis with only the most terrible undertones of disappointment and self-loathing added to the mix. Ignoring the latter was always the hardest part.

I kept going, gulping down the wine bit by bit. Before I even noticed, I'd already finished half the bottle. Which caused some of my surprise when I put it back down. Of course, at this point I hadn't had a drink in...what? One week? Maybe two? I really couldn't remember. Thanks to my empty stomach, I already felt dizzy, and decided I'd rather raise myself up onto the bed, just in case.

I managed not to spill anything. Maybe I just didn't notice. Once on the bed, I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. The radiant light coming from the bulb made me squint a few times, but I got used to it after a minute or so. All the while the bottle rested gently beside me, one of my forelegs carefully wrapped around its neck. In a slow and somewhat tired motion, I tilted my head over to look at it for a moment.

For some odd reason, I smiled at it, absently murmuring, "One of us is gonna be the death of the other, ain't that so? But I'm gonna finish you first." I have no idea what that was supposed to mean, whether it was meant to be deep or whatever. Mostly I just ignored sudden outbursts like this one. Not thinking about it too much, I finished the rest of the wine.

I'm not so sure what happened next. I think my grip around the bottle eventually loosened, and at some point, it just rolled over the edge of the mattress and dropped onto the rug below. Whatever. The floor wasn't in such a good state itself. For a while then, I simply kept laying on my back and continued to stare up at the ceiling. I tried to figure out what the next decent plan of action would be, but my brain didn't seem all too eager to cooperate.

Unable to think of anything, I could feel myself going crazy all of a sudden. I turned around onto my belly, then buried my face in the pillow and screamed into it with all my repressed frustration and rage breaking free at once. I really didn't enjoy the night anymore, but I couldn't change what I’d already done. Or maybe I could, and a proper solution just slipped my mind, right now.

Leaving the room was out of the question. I could barely see straight anymore.

My line of thought wasn’t going anywhere, either. I turned my head to the right in order to be able to breathe properly. Another minute or two, and I began slowly drifting off to sleep. The lights were still on. In my current state it didn't really matter.


	4. Just Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still hungover, Berry goes sightseeing while trying to cherish what little she has.

I woke up to a stinging pain in my head, a burning hatred for myself, and the near irresistible urge to throw up. A short glimpse at the clock above the door told me it was already two in the afternoon. When I got up despite my legs being all wobbly and hardly able to sustain my weight, I already thought it couldn't get any worse.

Just then a sour pulp rose up in my throat, instantly proving me wrong. In a sense of panic, I leaped off the bed, and raced clear across the room. Crashing through the bathroom door, I bowed my head over the toilet just in time to empty the contents of my stomach into it. There was hardly anything solid in there, so it didn't take too long.

At least it didn't go onto the carpet, I told myself. The whole place didn't look very well insured, and I probably couldn't afford to pay for the damage.

As soon as I was done, I turned around and awkwardly shuffled back towards my bed. Once there, I climbed on top and fell to my side almost immediately. My head and neck felt like somepony pushed a screwdriver through them. The things I would have given for a glass of water. Which did exist, downstairs in the kitchen. And to reach that I'd have to get up and cross at least two hallways and a staircase. I didn’t nearly feel confident enough about being able to achieve either task.

By the time my headache receded and I was able to grasp any sort of useful thought, time had processed to four-thirty in the afternoon. Which meant my shift would be almost over, and there was nothing I could do about it, now. Some workplaces allowed their employees to call in sick a couple days late, even. All I needed was a good excuse. Mr Dodger didn't seem the smart kind, anyway.

I’d take care of it eventually, I told myself. For now, I was left alone with my own miserable feelings. That wasn't so good. I really didn't have anything else to do, just the sense of hunger gnawing away at my insides.

Now, I would have headed out for some sightseeing, then grabbed some junk food along the way, but there were several problems with that. First, I was still broke. Second, I didn't give a damn about any famous places or something of the like, no matter how amazing any of them were said to be. It's just not my field of interest.

Realizing there wasn't anything for me to do in my room except maybe drown in self-pity, I decided to grab my keys and head out nonetheless. I didn't know where I'd be going, but neither did I see anything else to do. When I came trotting out of the hotel's backyard and out onto the street, I spontaneously decided to head south. For no particular reason that was. I considered the only four directions available thanks to the city’s unoriginal design, and south happened to be my choice in that particular moment.

And again, I was alone with my thoughts. Apart from avoiding other pedestrians, I didn't really have to watch out for my environment. There weren't any turns for me to take, either. Apparently, these roads never took any turns, except if you wanted to turn around a corner. Manehattan was one of those cities where the streets all just form one boring grid. The broad, grayish sidewalk continued on and on for miles, with no end ever in sight. Eventually, I lost track of time. But it must have been a good two hours until the street finally stopped continuing on ahead.

The sun was setting in the west by now, drowning the entire peninsula in some kind of orange glow, interrupted by the long shadows of buildings. When gazing out onto the water, I thought I could spot the Statue of Friendship in the distance. That at least gave me an approximate idea where in the city I ended up. Because that's where Friendship Island lay, south of mainland Manehattan. For once, there was a fact from grade school I could actually recall.  
For a while then, I pondered my options. I didn't really know where to go from here, and a hunch told me that I might easily get lost in the city's maze, despite the rather simple way they structured it. It's not like I cared all that much, but I would prefer to sleep in my own bed tonight rather than...some other place. I didn't want to head straight back, either. Not right now, anyway. That would be kind of a bummer. And depressing, too. I really didn't need that.

I decided to take a look at a nearby tourist stand, instead. My interest wasn't so much about the souvenirs, but they also offered boat trips over to the island, apparently. I don't know what I'd do over there, either. Except for looking at a giant copper statue, of course. I wondered how many pennies it could be turned into. Not enough for me to retire, probably.

It didn't matter either way. When approaching, I also noticed how they charged two bits per passenger. So there went those plans of mine.

It was no use. None of it ever was. I turned back around without further comment, then headed back down the street I came from. I can't recall its name, I really can't. But it probably didn't even have one. None of the streets or addresses in this town had any names, just numbers. That, and the slight distinction between streets and avenues. In all honesty, I was surprised to see that at least the ponies in this place still had actual names to themselves, instead of assigned numbers. Or maybe they hadn't, and I just didn't realize that. Maybe they had them, and didn't realize it themselves.

I don't know. I really don't.

By the time I arrived back at the hotel it was a little past nine in the evening. For some reason, the streets were still crowded, even now. In most places around Equestria, this would be the time where most ponies either go to sleep, or turn on their radios for the evening report or something. Around nine or ten, a city would generally turn itself over to the soft, velvet blanket of night. The one that Celestia's long lost sister once created for all of us to enjoy, I think. She had a name, too. I'm pretty sure she did.

Manehattan didn't go to sleep. Then again, Manehattan wasn't even how a city should be. It was more like a grotesquely painted carnivorous metropolis; one that simultaneously produced and devoured everyone and everything inside. Places like these didn't sleep nor pause, and never gave you a moment’s rest. I hated them.

I turned the lights on when stepping back inside my room. It certainly wasn't something I enjoyed, given the bright light blinded me for a second, and sent another aching arrow of pain searing through my skull. But I didn't want to stumble across anything my clumsy self might break in the process. Never sleeping surroundings or not, the street lights sure didn't reach up all eight floors.

Clueless on how to waste the rest of my evening, I kept pointlessly fooling around the place for another hour or so. Eventually I got tired of even that. I literally got tired. And driven by that weariness, I quickly downed my second bottle of wine and went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up at about eleven. It had to be Friday then, I believe. And only about six hours to my first weekend in Manehattan. I had no idea on how I was supposed to spend it, but at least those two days might give me some time to think. About what, I didn't know. Before heading out for work, I rounded up a few leftovers from breakfast, altogether avoiding the coffee. At about twelve, I arrived at work. Mr Dodger immediately called me into his office when I got there.

"May I know where you've been these past two days, Miss Punch?" he asked. Of course he did. "You seemed like somepony who could manage a pretty straightforward schedule well enough. At least on Monday you did. But success requires some basic consistency. I’m sure you have some reasonable explanation for your absence."

All of a sudden, he sounded all business-like. Serious, too. I already didn't like his approach on Monday, but I think I disliked it even more now. Even worse, now I had to talk to him, and spend more time in his stinking office. I had wanted to come up with an excuse on my way here, but I couldn't think of anything. Well, actually I wanted to do all that yesterday night. But then I sort of forgot and drank a whole bottle of white wine. Naturally, I didn't come up with anything useful after that. In short, I figured I might as well tell the truth, and hope for the best.

"There’s a reason. I got drunk and overslept." I said it in the most monotone voice I could muster.

Judging from Mr Dodger's reaction, the best still wasn't going to end very well. Not for me, anyway. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. I don't even want to start describing the smell that came streaming out of his muzzle. Chances are I'd lack the vocabulary to do so in any case.

"That's not how it works, girl. You should know that." He shook his head. "I tend to let some minor inconsistencies slide with ponies whom I've known for a longer time. Ponies I can trust. But this? I'm sorry, but I don't see myself employing someone acting this way right from the start."

I scowled. "I won't have to come in on Monday, then?"

"You really, really won't," he muttered, audibly annoyed. His eyes narrowed, while both rows of yellowish teeth kept munching on his cigar. It was a disgusting sight, but I still needed his money.

"What would be my pay for the five days I've worked here?"

"Five days?" he snorted. "I think what you meant to say is three days. And your pay for those adds up to precisely eighty-five bits. That's all. No more, no less. I don't see why I should pay you for days on which you don't even show up at your workplace."

Having said so, he slammed an envelope onto the desk, then leaned back in his chair, again. I peeked inside, checked for its ingredients, and was happy to find four green paper slips resting next to each other. That was something. I would have started another argument about getting a bonus for the time I had to endure his presence today, but my better conscience decided against that. I really didn't want to push my luck. Instead, I took the envelope between my teeth and trotted out. I tried to mumble some sort of goodbyes in between the paper, but it probably didn't sound very convincing. In any case, Mr Dodger briefly raised a hoof to reply and went back to his paperwork.

He might as well, I thought. In a way, I could consider myself a lucky mare never having to set a single hoof into his slimy lair ever again.


	5. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After lacking in self-control causes her to lose her job, Berry begins to wonder if Manehattan really is the place for her.

Here's where my memory gets hazy. What happened after Dodger laid me off is a bit of a blank spot in my mind, which unfortunately doesn’t leave much room for interpretation. I was most likely frustrated with myself, and everyone else. Because I once again messed up with what was supposed to be a fresh start into a better life. I failed at several attempts before, but it rarely took me less than a single week. That was below average even for my standards.

One silver lining waited for me inside the envelope I received. The amount of cash in there would make several issues go away for some days. All things considered getting them now was much more preferable than having to wait until the end of the week after. This way, at least I’d have something to eat in the meantime.

From the bits and pieces I do recall, I remember getting tired of trying to carefully consider what to do with the money I earned, and taking another trip to the liquor store. There I bought another bottle of white wine, same brand as the other day. Since there wasn't any special occasion coming up to actually save it for, I figured I might as well kill the bottle on the go.

I kept strolling around the city halfway conscious after that. Like I said, I was having kind of a blackout during most of the afternoon and evening.

Some time around midnight, I ended up back at the hotel. For unknown reasons my eighty-five bits were now down to thirty. I don't even remember where most of them went. There's always the possibility that against my better judgment, I bought some dumb stuff I couldn't afford. It wasn't very likely though. Chances were I just got mugged or something.

Saturday came around and mostly went by without anything too exciting. I spent some bits on halfway decent food over the day, although I still went for the free breakfast in the morning. Without the coffee of course. I didn't need caffeine on the weekends, anyway.

Apart from that I really spent most of the day just wandering around again. My plan was to take a few more glimpses at Manehattan, hoping to change my opinion about the city, which had been less than favorable so far. I lost my way several times, but I always got myself back on track one way or another. I even visited the Statue of Friendship this time. The little island was overrun with tourists however, and I didn't stay for much longer than ten minutes or something. Their phony carelessness bored me to no end.

About the rest of Manehattan I really couldn't find anything interesting to say. My imagination isn’t too colorful when I’m drunk, but the city wasn't very colorful, either. Safe for the sheer amount of bright, flashing billboards advertising a million things I didn't need, the streets and buildings mostly merged into a dull, homogeneous gray. Most of the concrete skyscrapers looked alike, too. The only green spot I found in this maze was a large rectangular park situated more or less right in the city's center. Central Park was what they called it. I really didn't know what I expected.

By the time the evening rolled around again, I'd put a good overall distance of fifteen miles or so behind me. My head felt heavier with each passing minute now, and my legs grew incredibly sore. The day had essentially gone to waste up until then, and I didn't see any reason to do anything productive with my night. I just wanted to get a few drinks at a local bar, then call it a day. Simple as that.

Originally, I still wanted to purchase another edition of the _Manehattan Times_ and look for a new job, but I decided to put that off until Monday. It wasn't too urgent, anyway. After all I still had enough cash to support myself for another few days. When I'd start going broke or near-broke, there would be more than enough time for me to think reasonably again.

The place I ended up in was situated in a narrow alleyway, more or less close to my hotel. I only had to walk two or three blocks down the street, I think. That was important to me though; going home after a couple of drinks could be somewhat dangerous in a town as big as this one. But as long as I could make it home within a few minutes, I figured I should be okay.

Still, I reminded myself that I'd like to keep it to one or two drinks tonight. Not every day has to end in a disaster followed up by humiliating sickness the morning after, mind you. And I already more than fulfilled my hangover quota for this week. There was no need to embarrass myself in public any more than that, is what I kept telling myself.

Did I mention my terrible self-control? Because those one or two drinks flowed past me quicker than expected, and my glass ended up empty much sooner than anticipated. Following that unpleasant surprise, I quickly decided to scrap my earlier attitude. That way, one or two turned into three, and three quickly became five.

I wanted to stop after number four, I really did. No matter what, even I sometimes realize it when I've had enough of something. Unfortunately, the bar also hosted a small party of local big shots or whatever they liked to call themselves; they sure looked the part. One of them had apparently earned himself a promotion earlier that week, which all of them subsequently took as an excuse for some private celebration.

And just when I finished my personal number four, the lucky one announced the next round would be on him. Which meant everyone in the room got served. I never turned down a free drink in my life. That was just about the only rule I cared for at the time.

Five it was, then. Paid for by somepony I never even met before. But someone who gave out free drinks couldn't be such a bad guy. Maybe he was somepony worth knowing. Or maybe just another moron trying to make it in the big city. Either way, he still seemed one step ahead of me in that regard, cause I didn’t see myself give out free drinks to strangers.

Pretty much out of curiosity, I started introducing myself to one of his friends who was just getting a Martini from the bar. Given my intoxication at the time, that approach most likely went a little less elegant than I originally envisioned it. The stallion didn't seem to mind though. He even figured he might get both of us another round, then stick around and chat a little for whatever reason.

Often enough, I'm not myself when drunk. And that reflected on my current situation just as well as any other. Both of us stayed at the bar for a while, having another drink or maybe two. I don't exactly remember. I recall that at some point I noticed how he was supposedly fairly attractive. For a city like this, I mean. Even though Manehattan males are probably no better or worse than everywhere else. Maybe he wasn't even as good-looking, and that was just the alcohol talking.

In any case, I thought so at the time. One thing led to another, and we ended up inside one of the bathroom stalls in the back. We even forgot to lock the door, but no-one else barged in on us. Seeing how the place was unisex that could have lead to a whole bunch of embarrassing confrontations. Luckily it didn't.

When I got back to the hotel much later, the first thing I spotted were my saddlebags. They had tossed them out onto the landing. The lids were open, and the contents were scattered all over the staircase. I took a good look at them and discovered nothing was gone that I hadn't lost already. Which only helped very little, as long as I still didn't know why all of my stuff was out here instead of safely tucked away inside my room. When I tried opening the door to find out, it wouldn't move. Somepony had locked it from the inside.

That was strange. I could tell as much, even in my drowsy state of mind. This door had never been locked, after all. I tried opening it with the key to my room, but it didn't fit. Mindlessly, I tried to push it in a few times before I finally gave up. I fell back onto my haunches, and kept sitting like that for a good five minutes or so, trying to sober up and figure out what had happened.

At some point I remembered that some hotels had this policy where Sunday was the first day of the week. Which meant it wouldn't be included in the week before. And that week's pay wouldn't cover it either. It sounded strange still, but it was the only explanation that made at least a bit of sense.

The ponies running the place never appeared to me as very excited about their job. Still, whoever treated their customers this way didn't seem to have a very desperate need for them. There was no point in complaining about this to anyone really, so I didn't. I gathered up all the items around me and stuffed them back into my saddlebags.

When everything was back where it needed to be, I gave the door one last, pointless glare and headed back downstairs. Before I left the building however, the remaining levels of alcohol in my bloodstream caused me to spin around one last time and shout at the top of my lungs, _"So long, suckers!"_

A stupid giggle escaping me, I headed outside.

It started raining again. Of course it did. I decided this city wasn't going to be the place for me to begin the rest of my life. For some reason I just wanted to leave right now, I don't know why. The rain probably didn't cause me to think so, but it most definitely was the final nail in the coffin regarding my future in Manehattan. Marching back out onto the street, I turned right and headed back towards where I recalled the train station would be.

Since I didn't have anything better to do, I figured I might as well take a trip down the coast to Baltimare. I could pay a short visit to my parents assuming they still lived down there. And I bitterly laughed at the prospect of me gathering the courage to ever speak to them again. Like that would happen. If I could even do as much as look them in the eye, why hadn't I done it years ago instead of wasting all that time moving around all over the place?

It's not like I missed them or anything. The only time I ever felt that way was right after I first ran off. Emotions be damned though, I might just have to come up with some kind of excuse. There had to be something I could come up with. Maybe they'd even be glad to see me after all this time.

Or maybe not, whatever. I wouldn't get myself to see them, anyway. What I was thinking that night didn't have to make sense. I still hadn't completely sobered up yet. When I arrived at the station, I was still drunk enough to not question buying the ticket to Baltimare. Even though I doubted anything useful would come from it.

My enthusiasm was only hit with a minor setback when I learned what time my train was supposed to leave. They told me I had to wait until six in the morning, but I could do that. For all the terminal building was worth, at least the rain wouldn't bother me in here.

Apart from that, there were more than enough benches in this place. They looked pretty comfy, too. I laid down on one of them, seeing as how I deserved at least a few hours of rest.


	6. Positively Negative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to her childhood home in Baltimare, Berry makes an unexpected discovery.

Driving down to Baltimare took me longer than expected. Our train had to take a prolonged break about halfway there because a flock of sheep were blocking the tracks. I'm pretty sure they didn't mean to do that, but that didn't help me in any case. These woolly nutjobs rarely have anything more complex in mind than the grass beneath their hooves or whatever else they find to gobble up. As far as I was concerned, they probably weren't even able to intentionally harm anyone.

This way, we were forced to halt for several hours in the middle of nowhere, and didn't get to our destination before noon. Personally, I didn't mind the delay so much. I wasn't in any hurry, and the more time I spent traveling the longer I could catch some sleep on cushions that were actually somewhat comfortable. These benches on long-distance trains are the perfect place to nap, compared to everything else I was used to. Unfortunately, the pony sitting opposite to me ended up being late for his job, and couldn't help but rile up everyone else about it. So much for a decent rest.

On any other day, I would have considered his anxious rambling hilarious. Today, all it did was annoy the living Tartarus out of me. He also kept checking his watch and going through his files every thirty seconds or so. Following a good half-hour of our prolonged stay, I constantly had to fight back the urge to slap his stupid, arrogant face.

I didn't, of course. There wasn't any point to it.

Like I said, the train pulled into Balimare North at about noon. I know. It's literally called _northern station_ , and I already started wondering why I ever complained about Manehattan being unoriginal. Anyway, all the tracks coming from up north ended up here, making it the city's main hub of transportation since there weren't any tracks going south. Horseshoe Bay was bordering the city in that direction, so there were only connections by boat going down there.

Three thoughts came to my mind, as I stumbled out of the terminal, out onto the square, and into what I guess was my hometown. Used to be, anyway.

First, I needed to keep an eye out for anypony who might still remember and recognize me. It had been ages since my last visit, but I did grow up here, after all. Second, I had to recall the quickest path from here to my parents' house. Third, I really needed a bathroom. Luckily, the train station provided for that last one. The only thing about it which infuriated me was the fee of one bit they charged, but what can you do.

My parents lived on the northern edge of town, more or less nearby. Although covering the distance there would take me a while, I could still easily cover it on hoof. A short glance at a public map of the local surroundings helped me recall the path. Another five minutes or so, and I was firmly on my way.

Given I never had the greatest orientation skills, it was a mere miracle that I found my folks' place without ever having to despair or cry out for help. Then again, I've only walked most of these streets a billion times or so. Childhood habits sometimes do pay off, I suppose.

At some point I could tell I was entering the suburbs I grew up in. Coming back here made me feel a bit nostalgic in the beginning, but that pretty much stopped after I realized how the place had seemingly lost nothing of its former, stuck-up self. It was awful, really. Most neighborhoods in northern Baltimore are these kinds of communities.

In these kinds of places, the lawn in a pony's front yard always had to be neatly trimmed, at a height of five millimeters at max. Lights-out was precisely at ten, and if you ever failed to check your mailbox in two or three days, someone would probably call law enforcement or an ambulance or something.

The closer I got to the house, the more I started to keep an eye out for any curious bystanders. Lots of ponies in Baltimare might’ve still recognized me, and there were just as many who I really didn't want to do that. I had my reasons to avoid them.

Speaking of which, I didn't see the point in coming here, and part of me already knew this was the dumbest thing I could possibly settle on. It wasn't going to end well, no matter what. Especially since I wasn't going to see my parents, anyway. Any minute now I'd turn back around and make a run for it, that much I could tell.

Except I didn't. I have no idea why but I just kept going. Probably because I didn't try to think about it too much. Sure, I was nervous. Scared even. But mostly I concentrated on trying to spot ponies first who didn't need to spot me. The thought of seeing my parents again only occupied a small spot in the very back of my mind. Mostly because I pushed it there. If I wasn't going to see them anyway, what was there for me to worry about? There was also still a long way ahead of me, I kept telling myself. Times and again, I did. Up to the point when I found myself standing on that very familiar porch, and all my mind tricks effectively stopped working.

I gulped hard, seeing the beige cottage before me again after all those years. I thought I'd left this place for good. Everything I'd been putting off since then now came back to me. Without any warning, I started shaking all over, my breath was going ragged, and beads of sweat appeared all over my forehead and temples.

It was somewhere around that time that I completely lost control. I didn't know what I was thinking anymore, and I just started acting from instinct. One of my numb forelegs rose up seemingly all by itself. I don't know. I didn't really, consciously make it do that. After a second or so, my hoof started hovering at the height of the doorbell, shivering uncontrollably.

I closed my eyes, telling myself another ten-thousand times just how crazy all of this actually was. And how I wasn't going to see them. How I could still avoid all this if only I just walked away right now, before anyone could see me. Then, with a deep exhale and without even looking I leaned forward until my hoof connected with the cold, brass knob.

The ringing sounded like the bell to my own funeral. It wasn't the same sound like when I last lived here, but I didn't even realize that right away. I felt light-headed. My heart pounded inside my chest like a sledgehammer, and my rib cage felt like it was about to explode. I didn't believe in any deity to say a prayer to, but in moments like these I really wished I did.

I kept trying to find a way out of this mess. I could still make a run for it without being seen...probably. They wouldn't answer the door for another few seconds, but it wouldn't take any longer than that. With every moment that I kept hesitating, my chances for escape grew weaker. Eventually, I knew it wasn't going to work. None of it was.

Time went and passed, every new second feeling like an hour. After a short while, I became impatient. I didn't know how long it took, but it felt much too long. Maybe they saw me and wouldn't open up? For all I knew they probably weren't even home.

That must be it, I told myself. They weren't here, and that's why nopony would answer me. And in all honesty, why would anyone be here right now? It was a Sunday after all, wasn't it? They probably went for a walk in the park, they always did. _We_ always did. I felt pretty sure about that. Maybe they went out to get some ice cream for...for…

Right.

I almost jumped back when the door creaked open a minute later. I felt my mouth open slightly, although my teeth remained clenched together and my throat felt incredibly dry. Given my clearly visible sense of panic, it probably wasn't that much of a surprise when the pony who opened gave me a rather incredulous look.

He was a scarlet-coated unicorn stallion, a good ten years older than me. I noticed his race not so much due to his horn, but mostly from the stupid pink coffee mug hovering beside him in mid-air. He was dressed in some sort of equally stupid morning gown, and looked extremely cautious. Or something. In any case I couldn't remember ever seeing him ever before, and he certainly wasn't related to me.

"Can I help you?" he asked. His voice was full of mistrust which I could tell he was only trying to hide out of politeness. I'm pretty sure I must have looked like a complete and total creep, staring at him like I'd gone mad. He seemed to agree with me on that point, judging from the way he returned my looks.

"Lady, I have no idea who you are, but this is ridiculous." He frowned, placing his mug onto a nearby desk. "I don't want to buy anything, and I don't want to join any religious group or anything. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to enjoying my day off."

"No, wait!" I exclaimed as he started shutting the door again. The stallion rolled his eyes in response.

"Yes?"

"I...I'm looking for...I mean...meaning..." Clenching my eyes shut with frustration, I sighed. "Ugh...do you know where I can find Mr or Mrs Punch?"

I could only cringe at the name, as always. After all these years, one would think I'd have gotten used to it, but I still hated my guts for being associated with a word like that. At least he seemed to remember it. The stallion's features softened to some degree, and some of his initial hostility was clearly lost in the process.

"Oh...well, I haven't been asked that in a while now," he explained, suddenly a bit unsure. "But truth is...and you've probably guessed, but...they don't live here, anymore."

I felt my heart drop at his words. That couldn't be so good. "Well, then, uh..." I started stuttering again. Awesome. "...any idea where they went?"

He shook his head in response. "No, not really. I got this place through an agent, so we never actually met. If it weren't for the neighbors, I wouldn't even know their name." He slightly lowered his voice, craning his neck to get a bit closer to me. "From what I've heard, they weren't exactly a happy family, either. But I can't say why. I'm not one for prying into others' business."

"Oh, y-yeah, right," I replied with a weak chuckle, my voice starting to shake. "Probably wasn't worth knowing about any...anyway."

I tried to cover up my own idiotic emotions somehow. Yet all I felt was terrifyingly, horribly sad and full of desperation. I had told myself time and again how I didn't miss my folks. But I always thought we could, and probably _would_ get back together, eventually. Being unable to reconnect with them all of a sudden...it felt like being hit with the exact same hammer that previously worked its way against my chest from the inside. I also noticed my eyes going all watery. That really didn't help, not now it didn't! I turned to leave without any further comment.

"Well, I'm sorry I couldn't help," the stallion called out behind me. Then, he hastily added, "are the Punches somehow important to you, Miss...?"

I stopped dead in my tracks, shivering. Why in the wide world of Equestria did he have to ask for my name? Why _now_?

"It's Berry," I told him. "Just that. It's sort of a pen name."

"...are you some sort of writer, then?"

Oh, for _fuck's_ sake!

"Huh? No, I...I..." Now, I couldn't use the painter thing. Painters wouldn't call it a pen name, right? "...I'm an, uh, artist, somehow. I write short stories and songs, then I perform these, and…"

"Oh, you're _that_ kind of artist!" He said it with a sarcastic notion, and I would have done well to turn around and punch him right in that stupid throat of his. But against my better judgment, I went straight ahead and left. I didn't even look back. There were a few tears running down my cheeks by now, and I really didn't want to show those off.

"Wait! Are you performing anywhere nearby, or…"

"The show got canceled!" I yelled as loud as my shaky voice would allow it, just before getting back onto the sidewalk. I turned left and dashed down the street as fast as I could, back to where I'd come from.


End file.
